I’m not desperate,” Erin said.

“You are kind of.”

Erin looked plaintively at Jessica, who sat in the faux-leather chair in Erin’s cubicle, looking amused.

Erin realized she was somewhat desperate, but she also knew Jessica enjoyed pointing it out.

“Once I hit send, there’s a way out of it, right?”

“There’s a way out of anything,” Jessica said, putting on lipstick.

Erin hit send to perfectpartnersearch.com. Then nothing happened.

“They think I’m troll-like. No one—oh no one—has responded.”

“It’s been two seconds.”

“Right.”

“I think you need to have sex.”

“I think no one is going to respond.”

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have worn sunglasses.”

Erin considered whether wearing sunglasses for her Internet dating picture had been a good idea. It seemed like an excellent idea at the time. She hadn’t taken the online dating thing too seriously.

The picture was from Tijuana a few years earlier, when she’d gone with her friend Midge to buy illegal prescriptions. She’d been drunk, and one of the Mexican servers had snapped it for ten dollars.

She’d just sent that photo, along with her bio. The bio was vague, too.

She was a recent divoce’e who liked thrills but loved romance. She wanted a tall, dark but blondish man who was outdoorsy but appreciated opera. She didn’t smoke or drink, and she went to church, all of which were lies. She listed her body type as medium.

“One sixty is medium, right?” she wondered aloud.

The online dating scene was going to fix medium. She’d started the Atkins diet the day before and had already lost two pounds.

By her first date, which would probably be in a week or so, she’d shave off a shit-ton.

That would make her below medium. She would cut back on smoking and drinking and go to church at least once.

Everything was copasetic.

Perhaps the shades were a bit much.

“Don’t you think it’s glamorous?” she asked Jessica. “Like mysterious?”

Jessica, who had moved on to filing her nails, looked up and made a show of caring. Jessica was like that: young, beautiful, married to a rich, fat husband.

“I think everything will be fine,” Jessica said. “Let’s go have lunch. It’s on me this time.”

Erin got up and went to grab her purse from the credenza. She caught her reflection in the window overlooking the hills and quickly looked away.

As they entered the hallway, Erin’s phone pinged. Her heart leapt. Was it already a response? The excitement deflated when she saw it was spam for discount vitamins.

“False alarm,” she said.

Jessica barely glanced at her. “Hmm? Right. The dating thing. I’m sure someone will bite. You’re a big hot mamma, okay?”

Erin nodded. She wasn’t surprised by the insult or the lack of interest. It was part of the package.

As they walked down the corridor, Erin’s mind raced. What if no one ever responded? What if they did, only to mock her? She’d put herself out there, and now all she could do was wait and torture herself.

They pushed through the main doors into the warm afternoon sun. Erin squinted, wishing she’d brought her sunglasses. She made a silent promise: no checking her phone during lunch.

She deserved this break, this moment of normalcy with her—well, if not exactly a friend, then at least an acquaintance.

“So,” Jessica said, stepping off the curb, “that new place okay with you? I heard their salads are very good.”

Was that a dig, bitch?

“Sure. Whatever.”

As they walked, Erin felt a small spark of hope refuse to die.

After all, life was too short for sunglasses and half-truths.

She checked her phone again anyway.

Cha-ching.

Drink.

Cha-ching.

Smoke.

A casino must be like hell, Gerry thought.

He somewhat liked hell. Even though it was noisy and filled with fat people and aggressive Asian tourists, he found comfort knowing there were people sadder than him.

He started going to the casino a few times a week after work because he couldn’t stand being at Phil’s bachelor pad.

Phil was never home, but his condo was depressing. It had none of the warmth or coziness of his former abode with Erin.

She had many faults, but none of them revolved around homemaking.

He pushed another button on a penny slot, and that was that. Another wasted twenty dollars.

He got up, his legs aching, realizing he’d been sitting in one place for over two hours.

His pointy finger hurt. He put it to his face and realized it was raw. Flesh-eating bacteria raw.

“Fuck,” he said.

No one heard him. If they did, no one cared.

The red tendon, flesh, whatever it was on his finger, really disturbed him. No telling what disease he had gotten from tourists coming from God-knows-where with their SARS and animal-to-human diseases.

He crossed through the casino and went to the bathroom. He had a hard time peeing with his left hand. He tried to touch nothing. He didn’t want whatever he had to spread to his dick. Jennifer—the soon-to-be wife, according to Erin—would not be amused by a sore on his dick.

Jennifer always had an infection and constantly blamed Gerry for fucking around. He would ask, “Are you sure you’re wiping front to back?” That was as far as he went with that.

Jennifer was a pistol, had money, and, for some reason, he needed her. Plus, she was dangerous. She once said, “If I catch you doing anything unsavory, don’t make me come after you.” He knew she meant it. She had deep ties to a dangerous cartel. None of it was bullshit.

Mostly, he was afraid of her.

He finished peeing, turned, and noticed a balding blond guy staring at him through the mirror. The guy had been washing his hands since the moment Gerry had entered. Gerry turned his flesh-eaten pointy finger toward the guy and said, “Fuck the hell off.” Baldy got the message, finished his hand-washing duties, and fled.

Pouring tons of soap on his open wound, Gerry wondered about queers and blowjobs. What could be the harm? His biggest fear was that they would want to talk afterward. He hated the effeminate way they talked.

Big sigh.

Jennifer expected him at 7:00 p.m.

He felt like canceling. He felt like stopping by and seeing Erin and his daughter.

Jennifer would not be amused if he canceled. Jennifer was hardly ever amused.

He wanted to stay in the casino, muck around, and see what his options were for that evening.

As he washed the exposed flesh, he knew his options were limited.